Page 40 of Across the Boards

Centerpiece placement. Apparently I’m trusted with floral arrangements but not human interaction.

Wise choice on her part. Your people skills are questionable at best.

Says the man who regularly gets paid to body-check strangers.

That’s not a people skill, that’s an art form.

I snort, earning a curious glance from a passing waiter.

Shouldn’t you be at practice or lifting heavy things while grunting or whatever it is you do during the day?

Just finished lifting heavy things WHILE grunting, thank you very much. Very productive session. Now I’m eating my bodyweight in protein and thinking about you.

The last three words make my heart do an annoying little flutter that I immediately try to suppress.

Multitasking. Impressive for a hockey player.

I aim to impress.

I’m still smiling at my phone like an idiot when I hear an all-too-familiar voice behind me.

“Elliot? Elliot Waltman?”

I freeze, centerpiece suspended mid-air, before slowly turning around. Standing there in designer athleisure and perfect highlights is Melissa Cooper, wife of veteran defenseman David Cooper—and former close friend of Jason’s ex-mistress Amber. Fantastic.

“Melissa,” I say with a polite smile that feels like it might crack my face. “How... unexpected.”

“Oh my god, it IS you!” She looks genuinely shocked. “Sarah didn’t mention you were helping with the gala!”

Because Sarah knows I would have fled the country if I’d known you’d be here. “Just lending a hand with decorations.”

“That’s so great.” Her smile seems sincere, which is somehow more unsettling than hostility would be. “It’s been what, three years?”

“Something like that.” Three years, two months, and approximately sixteen days since I last attended a hockey function, but who’s counting?

“You look amazing,” she gushes, with the slightly patronizing tone of someone surprised that divorce hasn’t left me visibly withered. “Are you still doing that editing thing?”

“Technical editing, yes. Still paying the bills.” Unlike your job of spending your husband’s money on Botox, I don’t add.

“Good for you.” She glances around conspiratorially before leaning closer. “You know, we were all on your side after everything happened. What Jason did was just...” She makes a disgusted face. “Total pig behavior.”

“Thank you?” I reply, unsure how else to respond to this bizarre rewriting of history. The hockey wives had definitely not been “on my side” during the divorce, though most had remained studiously neutral to avoid taking sides publicly.

“Is that why you’re helping with the gala? Getting back into the hockey world?”

“Just helping a friend,” I say firmly. “Sarah needed an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course, of course.” She nods like this makes perfect sense. “Though I did hear a rumor...”

Here it comes.

“...that you might be seeing someone on the team?” Her eyes gleam with poorly disguised hunger for gossip.

“Where did you hear that?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

“Oh, you know how locker rooms talk.” She waves dismissively. “Someone mentioned you were at Manuel’s taco truck with Carter last week. The new defenseman? Or I guess not new to Phoenix, he played here before, but new this season?”

I’m going to murder Brody for taking me to a known hockey player hangout. Slowly. With his own hockey stick.

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